


ravenous with lust

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Kink, Dark!Heimdall, M/M, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Smut, but here we are, i just wanted to write some porn, in order to sate the raging boner i have for tom hiddleston, initially PWP but it now has plot oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-18 00:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13088973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: “Someone might see,” he protested, sounding as if he spoke the words out of obligation rather than real concern. Encased in the darkness of this place, lit only by the rich glow of a distant sun, Loki’s legs parted.It had taken Thor a lifetime to realise that Loki never spoke the truth.Edit: just fixed a glitch that involved my 2nd chapter being posted 3 times! Many thanks to archiveofourown user mashburger for pointing it out





	1. Chapter 1

Thor knew he would be forced to lie.

How could he not? Loki had done terrible things on Earth. He had murdered and threatened, holding multitudes hostage with an insane glint in his eye and a hysterical edge to his laugh. He had been manic and crazed, the scale of his destructive influence having left a black mark against his name. He was a wanted man on this human planet, if the word _man_ could even be used to describe him at all.

He would have to conceal Loki’s presence from those that trusted him.

He would have to be dishonest.

As they neared the oceanic sphere, a vibrant blue in the midst of so much emptiness, Thor watched Loki. He watched his brother. Observed the shape of him, leaning against bent railing, elegant white hands spread steadily across rusted metal. He was slender, more than usual, beneath the tattered green hood that he wore. The fine black waves of his hair were pulled into a loose bun, tied up with a piece of fabric against the nape of Loki’s long neck. Thor could see the edge of his face, the sculpted angles of bone beneath skin, tightness and softness falling in such a way to suggest anxiety– and he wondered, was Loki frightened to return to this place? Thor could not reconcile the person before him with the monster that Loki had been. It scared him.

_Does it scare you too, brother?_

He wanted to ask this. He did not.

Instead, he approached Loki, reached out one hand to slide a palm onto his shoulder. Hold him firmly, the way Loki liked. Authoritative. Commanding. Strong and unyielding enough to prove that Thor gave enough of a damn to _insist_. Green eyes glanced upwards, a nervousness there that made a familiar ache build in the depths of Thor’s chest. Loki was indeed frightened. Of himself, or of Earth, Thor did not know.

He did not want to know.

First, he undid Loki's hair, fabric sliding against fabric in a quiet hush. He did not look away as he dropped the makeshift hair tie on the ground, holding Loki still beneath his gaze. He took Loki's jaw in his hand, still not speaking, still not offering clarity for his actions. No explanation was needed. They had done this before, and likely would again; lovers, meeting in the secrecy of sinful desire. Silent and gentle, Thor breached the distance between them, and pressed his lips against Loki’s. The mouth that met his was soft and unsmiling, the seriousness of this moment unmistakable. They both knew what awaited them, on the planet that one had attempted to destroy, and the other had saved. But it did not matter. Not now, not here. They still had time. They still had the quiet creaking of this stolen vessel. They still had the bunker that they shared in secret, Loki’s pale body blanketed by Thor’s as they moved together. They still had this moment.

“Thor,” Loki began.

“Shh,” Thor countered, shaking his head. He moved one arm downwards to take Loki’s hip in hand, bringing their bodies closer. Loki lifted both hands and placed them on Thor’s chest as if to push him away, but he didn’t. He made a quiet, wounded sound as they kissed, as Thor licked into his mouth and held him still. This was a dance they knew so well, however many ways they had performed it. Between sheets, writhing and gasping, tears beading in their eyelashes as they became overwrought with emotion. Knee-deep in bodies, heads thrown back in bloodthirsty anguish, knives buried deep where flesh met bone. They had never been gentle. They had been kind, on occasion, but never gentle.

Thor took hold of his shoulders, eased him down. Loki went willingly, and stayed there when Thor straightened up. He lay still as if commanded to do so, black hair fanned out about his neck and shoulders, the green ragged hood bunched up as if to form a pillow. Thor would not have known how to describe the emotions he could see in his brother’s eyes, even if he had attempted to. There was wetness glistening there. Against those fragile eyelashes.

Thor undid his belt.

Something about Loki’s expression _quivered._ The dart of a tongue, wetting his lips. Eyelids fluttering down in a quick blink. A sigh, shaky and unsteady.

“Someone might see,” he protested, sounding as if he spoke the words out of obligation rather than real concern. Encased in the darkness of this place, lit only by the rich glow of a distant sun, Loki’s legs parted.

It had taken Thor a lifetime to realise that Loki never spoke the truth.

So he knelt between his brother’s legs, taking himself in hand. Loki arched his neck to the side, tendons straining, eyes already closed in preparation for what would surely come next. Thor grabbed at his clothes, at the hem of his cloak, roughly undressing him enough to achieve what he wanted.

Loki gasped, pained, when Thor entered him.

“Thor-”

His voice was silenced by the roughness of Thor’s palm, fingers pressed into the swell of his cheeks. When Thor lurched forward with a snarl, Loki whined, hands flailing to grab at whatever he could hold onto. Thor leaned forward, smiling against Loki’s temple; an open-mouthed grin meant only for his dear, dear brother. Meant only for the games they played.

“You really ought to be quiet. You wouldn’t want anybody to hear you.”

Loki groaned when Thor abruptly nudged his cock deeper inside him. To anybody else, the sound may have appeared pained, even scared. But Thor could feel the shifting of lips beneath his skin, the wicked smile pressed into his hand. Loki laughed, muffled and voiceless, throat tightening with the effort. Thor laughed too, and started fucking him.

They both forgot about the rapidly approaching planet outside, the history that awaited them there.

 

***

 

Their laughter morphed.

The sex hadn't been something Thor had intended to go on for so long. They had done this before; sudden, unplanned moments of intimacy, hidden around corners and behind statues as fellow Asgardians strolled past in blissful ignorance. But they were not boys anymore, and this was not experimentation. Thor's laughter deepened, the edges of his grunts becoming heavy with growled curses, his fingers digging Loki's body with a cruelty he didn't know how to control. Their bodies slapped together. Loki's chuckles of amusement were all but gone, hitched sounds of helplessness hiccupping from his throat as Thor's hips met his pelvis in violent thrusts.

This was not love.

Or perhaps it was. Loki sobbed when Thor came inside him, his mouth open and wailing, Thor's jaw clenched tight.

Whatever it was, it was theirs.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The nature of a human life, when compared to that of an Asgardian, was fleeting and brief. Like an electric light blinking out into darkness, meagre and irrelevant beneath the glow of a moon. Thor had seen so many mortal lives begin and end, seen the rise and fall of civilisations and entire worlds from his perch in the clouds. He envied their simplicity. Their passion. Perhaps that was why he had fallen for Jane so very deeply; he wanted to be like her, wanted to have less _time._ Those days that he had spent in punishment, mortal and weak, had been exhilarating to him in ways he had never before experienced. Ordinarily, Asgardians did not experience seconds, hours, or even minutes, because increments of time did not matter. They perceived life differently to humans.

Being mortal had allowed him freedom.

At first he had been convinced that was the only thing that had so deeply seduced him about being exiled. But a reunion with his brother had reminded him of the truth, and cut him so deeply with what was unavoidable and unquestionable.

Being mortal had offered him a chance at denial.

The truth was that he was tethered to Loki in ways that he could never escape. He was blind to the colossal movements of the cosmos, deaf to the implosions of entire planetary systems, and unable to comprehend life without his most precious of loves, his most violent of antagonists. In the brilliance of Loki’s green irises he saw something that could not be compared; no diamond could be cut to rival the sharp, pitilessly honest beauty of that gaze, and no newborn could ever possess the innocence that Loki– despite all his crimes– was cursed with. They breathed hot into each other’s space, and, somewhere very far away, two planets collided. Something hot and syrupy burst on their tongues, between them as their mouths met, and a forest was blooming on the surface of a dead moon. Smoke rose from incense. Somewhere, somebody prayed. The fragrance of devotion was laid out throughout the universe, weaving itself through lives and hearts as they fucked. Loki's body was white and hairless. He was the deity through which human religions had worshipped boyhood and youth, tales of his beauty influencing entire civilisations as they slathered themselves in moisture and bent for their masters, on all fours as they tried to attain a lure only gods could know.

They had been children for millennia, standing like cherubs in a kingdom built on lies, and Loki’s skin had been as cold and beautiful as a field of untouched snow. Now the artificial lights of a spaceship cast their skin in shades of gold and brass, illuminating a truth that could not be avoided. Loki was crying, something sacred and profound, as Thor held him. He was shuddering. Electricity whispered over his skin in delicate flashes, and he pulled his bottom lip below his teeth, bit down, head tipped back as Thor’s energy moved throughout him.

“Brother,” Loki began breathlessly, shuddering, eyebrows drawn together into a pained expression, "please,"

Thor was unsure what Loki begged for. To stop, perhaps, or to continue always. Loki did not elaborate, and Thor did not stop. This was the way it had been since they had first come together, and this is the way it would be forever. Would one of their shipmates see them like this? See the royal brothers committing an act forbidden among family, fucking in the darkness while the rest of their people slept? Perhaps. But that didn't matter. Thor knew that Heimdal's golden eyes were likely observing them now, and he jerked his hips forward roughly just to hear Loki cry out, just to prove the violence of his devotion, the certainty of his need. Like pages of a bible, Loki's legs were splayed, and he lay still with beautiful helplessness as Thor did what he wished.

Eventually, when the jolts of energy ceased pulsing through the clutch of their joined bodies, they were still.

Loki fell limp. There was silence.

Thor’s forehead came to rest against the sweat-slick curve of Loki’s shoulder, the angle of a hip against the beginning of his thigh. He felt Loki’s chest rising and falling beneath him, breaths stuttered and laboured underneath what was surely a crushing weight. He did not move. They were too close to need the distance.

“I will hide you,” Thor whispered, ducking his lips down to press against the pulse that threaded soft through Loki’s neck, “I will hide you from those that would persecute you.”

Loki panted, eyes unfocussed. He seemed to laugh.

“Of course you will.”

“You ought to be grateful,” Thor countered, moving to kiss the blue veins that branched out below Loki’s pale skin, “others would abandon you.”

He swayed his hips again. Loki moaned brokenly.

This was a sacrifice. Who was the killer and who was the willing victim, he did not know– but they would not both survive this, if either one of them survived at all. This was a ritual. Something visceral and raw. A thing of mythology and eternity. The spaceship’s metal floor was rusted and gritty beneath Thor’s palms, and the unending jarred uncomfortably with the immediate; he braced himself and thrust forward again, despite already being sated. Loki sobbed.

“You will never abandon me,” Loki drew in a shaking breath, but his words were like honeyed fruit, rich and dripping. A tear made its way down the softness of his cheek, and Thor licked the salt away.

“No. No I won’t.”

Thor’s body brimmed with something he could not describe, something that did not have a name in any language. Loki felt it too. Thor knew this would never end. He knew that they would always be here, like this, together. Gasping and resisting and submitting and insisting, bodies entwined and souls overlapping.

In life and in death.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, this is fun. leave me a comment if you're enjoying it!!! i've never tried my hand at thorki before


	3. Chapter 3

Heimdall was not old. He was beyond age.

Asgard, nothing more than flesh and bone and beating hearts, rested around him, sleeping contentedly as they floated in the dead silence of space. Life crept through veins and hummed at fingertips, the latent magic of some common citizens itching to burst free now that things were so disordered. Loki lived in their souls, as did his mother. The Queen. She had been so magnificent. Head held high, golden hair coursing down her shoulders, mighty power radiating from the centre of her very being, face etched in the geometric lines of timelessness. Her son, equivalently as beautiful but nowhere near as dignified, was not her equal. Not nearly. Still, Heimdall respected Thor.

He did not respect Loki.

Loki, with his raven-coloured hair, arching and bending like a maiden in order to seduce his own brother. Loki, with his silver tongue and his clever words, moans breaking sweetly from his throat with the intent of seduction. When he blinked, slow and drugged by passion, Thor saw nebulas cluster in those green eyes. When they kissed, Thor tasted warmth and safety and _home._ When they were finished, Thor felt something close to regret, but not quite that– he felt an aching, yearning sense of helplessness, a desire to hold Loki close in a way that might fix what could never be healed.

Thor was a child.

Heimdall had seen it all. He did not dream; he was assaulted by prophecy. He had seen blood slipping past the lips of Loki in that battlefield, had seen his skin turn a dusty yellow, had seen the falsity and the lie as the bastard prince gagged on death. The blood had coagulated on the underside of his chin, and Thor had cried. Heimdall had known, as he always did. But intervening was not his role. Following orders, and acting when told to, was his role. It was not his place to shape events; that was the responsibility of the blind. Those who did not have his power, and could only ask for it. He had been born to serve Odin, and the Queen, and he would therefore serve Thor until one of them was claimed by death.

But he would not serve Loki.

He would not serve the son of Laufey.

Heimdall had seen it all, and he knew how this would end. He had seen the fire eating a path through time, had seen blades carving deep, bloodless and pinkish scars stretched across dead bodies like lightning bolts. Alone in the universe, in every universe, he leaned against the wall of a stolen vessel and closed his eyes.

For the first time, he could see something new. Something he had never seen before.

He had a role to play.

The vision overcame him in a burst, violent and unstoppable as the force of an imploding celestial body. Black hair coursed through his fingers; fine as silk, and just as fragile. A head arched into his touch, eyes closed, thinking him to be somebody else. He tightened his fist. Loki gasped, body going rigid, jolts of shock pummelling through him. Heimdall put a knife between his ribs.

Then he opened his eyes.

And smiled.

 

 


End file.
